


Post-Battle – You're Safe

by thedragonfly



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddling, M/M, Optimus as medic, Oral Sex, Post-Battle Sex, sub!Optimus, top!Ratchet, we almost died sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonfly/pseuds/thedragonfly
Summary: After fighting Megatron's dark energon powered undead, Optimus and Ratchet return to base. Optimus repairs Ratchet's broken right arm and the two engage in post-battle 'we-almost-died' interfacing.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 3
Kudos: 92





	Post-Battle – You're Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This takes place after _Darkness Rising, Part 4_. I'm modifying a few parts for this story:  
> • Fowler is recovering from his incident with the Cons in his office  
> • Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bee have returned to base with their respective charges and are off taking them home

The mental rush from the battle against Megatron's zombies – he recalled the word Miko had used to describe the reanimated Cybertronian corpses – was still coursing through Ratchet's frame as he sat on the medical berth, watching his leader's face. 

Said leader was intently focused on the welder in his hand, as he attached the last bar of metal to Ratchet's right arm. His medic had instructed him on how to create the crude cast and attach it to his frame. It would keep his arm still while Ratchet's self-repair did its job.

Optimus turned off the welder, setting it aside as he looked over his work with a frown tugging on his lips. "I am truly sorry, old frie-"

"None of that, Optimus," Ratchet said, silencing the Prime with a finger pressed to the larger mech's lipplates. "I was not going to leave you to that fight alone." He used his left hand to pull the Prime into a kiss.

Optimus blinked slowly in surprise, relaxing into the kiss. He slid an arm around the smaller mech's waist, his hand resting on Ratchet's lower back. He broke the kiss when he felt Ratchet slide from the medberth to land on his pedes, trapping his freshly-welded arm between them. "Is that wise, Ratchet?" he asked, concerned.

Ratchet planted his good arm on his hip, giving Optimus a glare that would've sent any lesser mech fleeing the vicinity. "So I see you're taking my role as field medic now, Orion Pax," he retorted.

"I value your expertise, and my function, too much to ever presume to be better than you in that role, Ratchet," Optimus said, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he placed a hand on Ratchet's shoulder pauldron.

Ratchet shook his helm, smiling inwardly. 'I can't be mad at you, Optimus, even when you nearly die...' he thought, reaching up to grasp Optimus' arm that was extended. "My self-repair is already fixing my arm, thanks to your medical expertise," he said. "Now you're far too tall for me to continue to assuage your concerns like this. The door at the back leads to my berth."

Optimus glanced out at the main area of the base. All was still quiet for the moment. "Very well, Ratchet; however we will stop at the first sign of any pain," he said as Ratchet grabbed his hand, leading him to the berth room.

Optimus sighed with relief as soon as the door closed and locked behind him. This. Being in a room alone together with Ratchet, here he could be himself... free of the burden of Primacy. Ratchet had known him since he was a young archivist in the Great Hall of Records, Ratchet himself a young and coming medic. He pulled himself out of his recollections as he watched Ratchet clearing off his berth with one hand.

Ratchet turned around to find Optimus kneeling in front of him. "Optimus, what are you–?" he began to ask, only for the red-and-blue mech to grasp his hips and start kissing him on the neck.

Ratchet tilted his helm to kiss Optimus on the top of his helm, reaching to wrap an arm loosely onto his upper back as he let Optimus have his way. 

Optimus peered up at Ratchet, optics searching for permission to continue as he settled a bit lower onto his pedes, "Allow me this, old friend?" he murmured against Ratchet's abdominal plating.

Ratchet shuddered as he felt the Prime's baritone rumble through him. "O-of course," he stuttered, fans kicking on. "But you don't o-owe..." he groaned trailing off as he felt a hand trailing up between his thighs. 

Optimus ran his glossa over the seams of Ratchet's pelvic plating, while he continued to massage at the medic's thighs. He smiled to himself as the dark metallic grey panel clicked and slid aside, revealing Ratchet's spike which was quickly pressurizing and wet valve.

Optimus hummed quietly as he brought the medic's spike to his mouth and licks the ribbed underside of it.

Ratchet's legs buckle slightly and he's forced to rest his left hand on the Prime's shoulder, gasping.

This doesn't get past Optimus' observance and he pulls back to look up at Ratchet again. "The berth perhaps would be a better choice..." he says thoughtfully.

"Yes, I think so," Ratchet answers a bit dazed at being pulled abruptly from such ministrations, only to smile as he watches Optimus walk on his knees to the berth and climb up the foot of it on his hand and knees.

Ratchet shakes his helm, smiling at his good friend. "Is that how you want it, Orion?" he asks, using Optimus' pre-Prime name. He walks to the end of the berth, patting Optimus' aft and thighs. He pushes a single digit into the Prime's waiting valve, feeling the way the calipers grip it.

Optimus groans and angles his hips back into Ratchet's touch, needy for more. 

Ratchet pushes the single digit in and out a few more times, savouring the way his lover in front of him his squirming at his touch.

"Ratch..." Optimus moans out the medic's designation as the ambulance behind him has suddenly moved from one finger to three that are now scissoring him open. "Please..."

Ratchet would love to hear his Prime beg some more, but he too is getting desperate. His spike is hard and throbbing and he curls his fingers through Optimus' lubricants to rub them on his own spike before lining it up to the entrance of the Prime's valve.

As Ratchet pushes in slowly in one long thrust, Optimus cranes his helm to look back at Ratchet. The emotions sketched on the Prime's normally stoic façade – lust, protection, adoration – all for Ratchet.... these kicked the medic's charge higher. Concern for his recently injured right arm was cast aside as the medic gripped Optimus' hips with both hands, using them as leverage to piston himself harder and faster within the semi's clenching passage.

Optimus gripped the edges of the berth with his hands, optics shuttered tightly as he moaned out a mantra consisting of his medic's name and Primus.

Ratchet could feel the coiled heat of his impending overload. "Optimus, I... I'm close..." he warned the other. As he snapped his hips against Optimus' interface array once more, his spike twitched and spilled hot transfluids inside the Prime's valve, triggering both of their systems to overload within moments of the other's.

After a few moments, Optimus came online first, rolling onto his side to make room for Ratchet. 

When the medic came back online, he pushed himself up from where he had slumped over Optimus' lower legs and pedes. He ex-vented air in a hiss of pain and fell back to his knees, cradling his right arm.

Optimus sat up in the berth quickly, coming over to Ratchet’s side. “Ratchet...” he said, worriedly. Sliding off the berth to his pedes, he slipped his arms under the medic, picking him up bridal-style. Ratchet gave him a half-sparked glare in place of the typical protests from being carried about. The Prime set him down on the berth. “What can I do for you, Ratchet?” he asked.

Ratchet checked his own internal systems, he had set back his own self-repair schedules with his impetuous actions. “It appears that through my own rash actions, I have set my self-repair time back several hours.” He looked up at his Prime, who looked ready to say something. “No. Don’t apologize. I enjoyed this, perhaps even needed that....”

“I can at least get you something for the pain,” Optimus said.

“No!” Ratchet countered quickly. “We don’t have many left. We should save those for when one of you is truly injured. I... this...” he gestured with his good arm, “Will heal quickly with a recharge session.” He laid back down, making room on the berth. “Stay. Please....” he asked quieter.

Optimus’ face softened and he sat back down on the berth, pulling a cloth out of subspace and wiped the excess transfluids and lubricants from Ratchet’s flaccid spike and interface region. “I will respect your decision to not take a pain chip, Ratchet.” He paused to clean his own interface region with the cloth. “However, you are far from an unimportant member of this team. You are perhaps one of the most important ones, especially to me,” he finished, looking up to see Ratchet blushing from the comment.

As Ratchet began to fluster with his words, attempting to come up with a counter as to how he wasn’t as important as Optimus claimed, the semi was now laying down on his side beside Ratchet, propped up on one elbow to kiss him on the cheek.

Ratchet huffed out an ex-vent and made himself comfortable on the berth, his frame against Optimus’ with his hand pressing gently against the Prime’s windshield.

Optimus watched and listened to Ratchet’s frame as the ambulance powered down into a much needed recharge before allowing himself to do the same.


End file.
